I love Paris
by ttalis
Summary: Tony takes his child to Paris because in hopes someone will be waiting for him there. / Way out of my comfort-zone. Don't take it too seriously.


_A/N: I feel it necessary to state that I have never seen Past Present Future or any of the episodes leading up to it, nor have I seen Tony's departure or read any fics based on it. I'm piecing this drabble together by what I gathered from the dashboard, so any errors regarding canon or other inconsistencies are due to that fact. Please forgive me. Also, I don't accept the child's name being Tali so I went with Talia. Last but not least, I hate kids (imo giving Ziva a child was the worst thing they could have possibly done to her) but here's to breaching new territory. Hope you enjoy!  
Before reading: Look up Frank Sinatra's 'I love Paris' by Eric McCormack._  
 _Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS although I wish I did.  
_ _Content warning: Feels. Maybe. Idk._

 **I love Paris**

It was easy, Tony told himself. It was always easy. There was no language he knew better than that of Ziva. There was no clue that stood out more to him that those she'd left. He stared at the photograph of them both and wondered only briefly how they'd gone from the people that had enjoyed Paris together to the people they were now.

 _Parents_.

Everything had changed. He glanced down at the child sleeping on the couch next to him and realized how utterly unprepared he was by how he'd put the girl into one of his shirts to sleep in. He was behind on laundry.

Talia still remembered Ziva, probably still felt her hands in her hair and her lips kiss her one last time. It hurt his heart to know that years from now, she would no longer remember the woman who'd birthed her, who'd loved her more than anyone ever could. And Tony was afraid that he wouldn't be able to answer Talia's questions when she came and asked about her mother. He started to forget the sound of her voice or the way she glared at him when he dared to quote a movie. How would he describe to Talia the way Ziva had laughed and the glint in her eyes when she was happy? How would he tell the story of how they'd fallen in love?

And how would he explain that they'd never been together? Would Talia blame him? Would she be angry at him because had he forced Ziva to come home, she'd still be alive? Was it his fault? Had he killed the mother of his child?

Tony sighed. So much was wrong and he was entirely unable to wrap his head around it all. Unaware of his strength, he gripped onto the photograph a little tighter. _Tighter_. When the latch at the bottom clicked under the pressure, he winced. He glanced down at Talia. She was still sleeping soundly. Then, carefully, he turned the frame over. His first instinct was to put the latch back in its place, but something stopped him.

He wasn't sure why, was even certain that there was no reason to, and still he removed the back of the frame. His heart rate went up at the initial sight of handwriting. Ziva's handwriting. But hope was a false friend and quickly turned into terrible disappointment when he realized it was in fact only the date and time of where the photo had been taken, snapped by a stranger upon his request with her phone.

 _Morning of 2 April 2009_

He ran his hand over the writing, wishing desperately for some kind of clue to jump out at him, some sort of secret hidden inside of the letters. There were none. Of course they were none. Tony was chasing a hirngespinst.

His fingers shook when he put the frame back together. To think that Ziva had touched it, that her hands had been where his were, that this was as close to her as he would ever again be brought a lump into his throat and tears to his eyes.

Damn, he missed her.

Through his blurry vision he looked at Talia. Oh, how he longed to take her into his arms in hope she would soothe his aching heart. But Talia wasn't there to help his grief. He was there to help hers. Tony reached out his hand and gently stroked the top of her head. "We'll be fine, buddy," he said, then carefully picked her up and carried her to his bed. At least one of them should sleep comfortably.

Tony returned to the living room. The photograph stood accusingly on the coffee table. He clenched his teeth and turned it face-down. He could not stand to look at the happy times when he knew what times were ahead. Settling onto the couch, he looked up at the ceiling, or rather through the ceiling to somewhere far away. But his eyes always drifted, no matter how many times he took them away, back to the photograph.

He had no power over himself and reached for it, his hands falling into the place where Ziva's had been. She'd probably looked at it as he did now, full of longing, full of regret.

"Why this one, Ziva?"

—

By morning, the photo stood again in its rightful place by the piano and Tony had made a decision. He'd gotten up early – in fact, he hadn't even slept – and was in the process of putting together two go-away bags. Talia's was wrapped up quickly. He'd put her small things into the washer and packed them according to the way he'd first found them. His own belongings on the other hand were a scattered mess inside of his suitcase.

The phone rang. " _Shit_ ," he hissed as he stumbled over various items to get to the phone before the second ring. "DiNozzo," he grumbled.

"Rebooked your flight. You're leaving in three hours."

"Thanks, McGee."

"Good luck."

He raised her from sleep gently, with a careful, repetitive motion of his hand over her head and a song. Talia sleepily opened her eyes. His voice had made her aware that she was with him and not with her mother. Tony thought Ziva had woken her in a similar manner.

"Boker tov," Tony said and smiled.

Talia returned his smile. "Aba."

"Aba," Tony repeated. He would never get used to it. "Say, how about you and I take a little trip? You're not a nervous flyer, are you?

—

She was in fact a very nervous flyer. Talia did not sit still as they waited to board and continued to fuss in her seat as if she felt something was about to change. Tony wondered if she'd inherited this sort of sixth sense from her mother. It wouldn't surprise him.

In an attempt to settle her, he turned on the television. He chose a random cartoon but Talia was not interested. Her restlessness was infectious and Tony watched as she continuously grabbed for her star.

"You take good care of that," he said and pointed at the piece of jewelry around Talia's neck. "It's our lucky charm. We need it."

"Lucky," Talia said, although Tony did not think she knew what it meant.

He let out a sigh and prayed that they would make it, that they would find what they were looking for and find it soon. Tony would not know what to say once Talia began asking for her Ima.

He put his arm around the little girl to ground her. She relaxed into his side and tapped with her tiny fingers at his arm in the rhythm of the song he'd woken her with. "Did you like that song?" Tony asked and Talia began to hum a soft in-tune melody that was barely heard over the sound of the engines.

Subconsciously, almost as if the melody formed itself on his vocal-cords, he began to hum along. The music put him at ease. He needed calming as much as Talia did. She watched him with her big eyes as the plane took off and Tony prayed that he was doing the right thing.

The song stayed in his head throughout the entire flight like a prayer.

—

Paris was as he remembered it. Charming, confusing, impersonal. But in every corner he breathed her, breathed Ziva. A woman passed him and he looked after her because for a second he thought he'd smelled her perfume.

But it was never her.

Tony took Talia for lunch at the café. He showed her the photo of Ziva he had taken by the street-vendor – his favorite photo which he'd prefer in black and white – and said "Look." He pointed to the Eiffel Tower in the picture. Then he lowered the photograph so that the real tower came into view.

Talia smiled and munched away at her pancakes. She didn't notice how her father scanned every person that passed nearby, scanned the very ground for signs of Ziva. Talia had giggled earlier when he'd even gone as far as to look under the table.

"You find that funny, eh?" Tony's seriousness had only made her laugh more. "How about you go under the table and have a look? Do I have to do everything?"

Talia didn't answer but her smile brightened. She thought of this as a kind of game. She reached for Tony's phone with her maple-syrupy hands. "Ima," she said. "Eifo Ima?"

Although Tony's Hebrew was limited, he knew what she was asking. He sighed and kissed her head. "I don't know, kiddo. Give me time."

—

The days passed. The staff became acquainted with them. Tony never strayed from the café too far. A playground kept Talia entertained. One afternoon he sat on a bench with her and read Dr Seuss, another he observed the area while she slept in his arms.

In these hours he began to lose faith. He had been so sure he'd find her! But things had changed and his guts failed him. Tony's thumb brushed over the star on Talia's chest, a silent prayer to his god or to Ziva's god or to any god that was out there.

But his hopes were in vain.

The girl was extraordinarily quiet. Ever since they'd left for Paris she'd been wary. Every smile was followed by a searching glance around herself. "What's up, little lady?" he asked and wrapped his arms around her. "Do you miss Ima?"

Talia perked up at the mention of her mother. She looked at him expectantly, as if she thought Tony would shake Ziva out of his sleeve. By all his power, he was not capable of magic. He ran his hand through her hair, and pulled her head in to kiss it.

"Me too," he whispered.

—

The next morning he went alone.

It has been a week and a half and Tony's hopes had crumbled like Ziva's farmhouse in the fire. It was just that he felt the need to visit the café one last time. To make sure really she wasn't there. To say goodbye.

He sat in the same spot he'd sat in that morning before they left Paris. His hand ran over the tabletop. His eyes were distant on the empty chair in front of him. The conversation played in his head.

' _I slept well. Why? Didn't you? You certainly looked comfy enough.'_

How had he let such a great thing go to waste? He wasn't alone to blame. Ziva had done and said things, too, to keep them apart. So the real question was: how had _they_ let themselves grow worlds, _dimensions_ apart? Wherever Ziva was now, he could not reach her.

Tony buried his face in his hands. It was difficult to think of little Talia and the way she longingly looked at her mother's picture. Doubts crept up his spine as he realized that it would only get worse. He was raising a child without a mother. Could he do this? Alone? He'd once told Ziva he couldn't live without her.

How dare she put him in a place where he was forced to live without her?

Grief and anger were similar things. He felt both as he sat in the café. He'd missed three years of his baby-girl's life. He'd missed her first words and her first steps. He'd missed her first tooth and the first time she smiled. He missed so many things he would never be able to get back.

The most terrible thing was that he couldn't hold Ziva responsible.

Tony let out a breath to relieve the lump that formed in his throat. His mind was strangely focused on the ground. So focused, in fact, he didn't notice the figure that slipped into the seat opposite of him.

"Didn't sleep so well this time?"

"How could I sleep well when—"

His words came so naturally in response to her voice, he was through with half of his sentence when his brain caught up and suddenly there were no words left to say at all.

Tony stared at her from across the table. She wore sunglasses and a large hat. When she reached to take off the glasses he saw the skin of her hand was burned. His mind began racing. Tony had so many questions but not a single one made it past his lips.

"It is good to see you," she said.

It broke out of him then. All the anger he'd been holding in broke out at her casual it's-good-to-see-you-greeting. "It's good to—It's good to see _me_?!" Tony got up from the table and ran his hands through his hair. People were looking his way but he ignored them. "Do you know long I've been looking for you? How long _we'_ ve been—"

"I know, Tony."

" _What_?"

Ziva followed him the few steps down the sidewalk, willing her voice to calm. "I've seen you every day since you got here. I would have approached you sooner if—"

"If what?"

"I had to make sure you weren't followed! I couldn't risk getting you, getting _Talia_ in danger!"

"And that is alone your responsibility," Tony said spitefully. "It's not like she has two parents, Ziva, are you out of your mind? Lying to me like that?"

"Let me explain, Tony. Please give me a chance to explain."

"Like you gave me a chance to be a father?"

Ziva recoiled. She knew he was right, knew that she deserved his anger. And still she'd hoped for their reunion to be different. But there was no time for silly wishes. "There is so much to this that you don't know. Tony, I had to do wh—"

"All I know is that there is a little girl calling me Aba and up until two weeks ago I didn't even know she _existed_! How do you explain that away, Ziva? How do you even begin?"

"Hear me out, Tony, is all I'm asking."


End file.
